


A Jedi Without Hope

by BuzzCat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: (this is going to be Han/Leia eventually but we aren't there yet), Force-Sensitive Han Solo, Gen, Jedi Han Solo, Movie: Star Wars: A New Hope, a character study in Han Solo, because I am ENDLESSLY interested in that universe, but mostly what-if-Han-Solo-was-a-jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-02-28 04:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13263888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat
Summary: Han Solo used to have hope and a lightsaber. Now he has practicality and a Wookie. And after a stop in Mos Eisley, he has a too-kindly Jedi master and a too-bright hope of the future rattling around on his ship.A connected series of one-shots about Han Solo, a Jedi without hope, and how he copes with suddenly being surrounded by light.Is marked complete but I tend to update every month or so with new pieces for the collection.





	1. Bright Light

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Episode IV: A New Hope, just after Luke and Old Ben have boarded the Millennium Falcon

It was Luke.

Kriffing hell, of course it was Luke. A kid from Tatooine with the twin suns themselves burning bright in his soul. Of course it was Luke.

“Han?” Luke said quietly. Han could feel the tendrils of the Force questing around Luke, poking at Han to gauge his thoughts and feelings.

“I’m fine. Keep your Force hands to yourself.”

The tendrils went away, “Sorry. Just felt a bit like you mentally tripped on a step and fell for a second. Or something.”

“That’s Old Ben talking out of you now. Quit mumbo-jumboing me and go do something useful,” Han said, waving the kid off without a glance as he flipped some switches. Really what he was doing was turning the outer lights on and off and upping the temperature in his room, but he’d learned long ago that if you hit buttons with enough force, people assumed you were doing something important and left you alone.

Such was the case with young Luke Skywalker, who ambled off. Most likely to find Obi-Wan Kenobi and beg a few more lessons. As soon as he was gone, Han quit fiddling with the controls and leaned back, hands behind his head. He stared unseeingly at the ceiling.

Luke had been on his spaceship for all of two kriffing hours and his Force presence was so strong it made Han a little sick. The level of Force, of _life_ , that radiated from the kid was almost nauseating.

Luke was the one to bring balance to the Force. It was one of the very few things in the galaxy of which Han was certain.

Han remembered the rumors, and he felt it in the Force. He remembered hearing how Master Anakin Skywalker—no doubt a very distant relation of Luke’s—had walked into the Temple and destroyed everything. He had been the hope, the hope against the Dark Side. Han knew something had happened, knew when he felt the Force shift so far he nearly crashed his stolen speeder, cruising along the borders of the city. Ever since, it had always felt like the footing beneath his feet was just a degree or two off, like he was constantly fighting this sliding toward something. He felt it whenever he closed his eyes, fought it every second of his life. It was beginning to wear on him.

“If you think much harder your face will stick that way,” Chewbacca said from behind him. Han growled and shifted in his chair,

“Damn Jedi are going to get us all killed,” he muttered as he left the cockpit, making his way to his room. He stepped into the ‘fresher and splashed water on his face, looking at himself in the mirror. Han couldn’t help it: he felt old. He’d lived through the fall of the Jedi before, seen everything he loved burn on the city skyline, and he had known even then in some deep-down place he didn’t examine too often that it had broken something in him. Dedication to the cause, discipline of literally any variety. Something in him had been slaughtered as surely as the rest of the padawans. In an even less accessed place of his soul, Han knew the thing that had been slaughtered was hope. The hope for a better world, or even a belief that a better world could exist. The hope that he’d lost now burned so blindingly bright in Luke Skywalker it seemed to drive out the shadows, and that scared Han more than he would ever admit.

He shook his head. The galaxy was going to be saved by a relic of the Jedi Order, the last hope of the galaxy, a Jedi without hope, and a Wookie. Han let out a deep sigh as he dried off his face.

He had a very bad feeling about this.


	2. Master Kenobi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han has a conversation with Master Kenobi and realizes that maybe he isn't the only one who still smells the smoke of the Temple burning

It was a long flight to Alderaan. It took most pilots a week and a half; it took Han nine days. But nine days still wasn’t fast enough for him, not this time. Not with Luke kriffing Skywalker and his Force presence taking up the entire ship. Luke was a nice enough kid, as far as Han could tell from their interactions.

In truth, he could barely stand to be in the same room as the kid. It was just stiflingly claustrophobic as soon as Luke stepped into the room, giving off sunlight and hope like it was going out of style. Han came to outer space for the specific purpose of avoiding that crushing feeling of being trapped and now he couldn’t escape it with the kriffing Force spreading across his ship like an Abraxian stench.

Han was hiding in the cafeteria one morning when his other new headache walked in: Master Kenobi. The old man settled into the seat across from him as Han continued reading his holopad and drinking his caf. Han could feel the Jedi staring at him, but he refused to look up. If the old bastard wanted to have this conversation, Han sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Finally, Old Ben—Han still scoffed at the moniker—picked an apple off the counter behind him.

“So…” Master Kenobi said as he began peeling the apple in one long string, “you escaped, Padawan Konstan.”

Han absolutely did not flinch at the sound of his old name. No one had called him Padawan or Konstan in almost twenty years. Han scrolled down his holopad and spoke in an even voice Master Windu would have been proud of,

“Apparently I wasn’t the only one, Master Kenobi.”

Han did not look up.

Master Kenobi kept peeling the apple.

The old man broke first, “Where did you go?”

“The Outer Rim. Easier to disappear when no one knows to look for you.”

“Indeed it is. And you took all your Jedi knowledge and training, and used it to become a smuggler.” Master Kenobi’s voice fairly radiated disappointment. Han sighed and put down his holopad. Apparently they were going to have this conversation.

“Alright old man, ‘all my Jedi knowledge and training’ entails about two years of meditation practice and history lessons. That damn protégé you’ve got prancing around my ship has more Force training than I do and he’s a farmer from the backend of nowhere.”

“But you know you are meant for better than smuggling, Padawan Konstan. You have the potential to be more,” Master Kenobi said as he pulled the last of the peel from the apple. Han smiled sarcastically,

“I don’t know if you missed the memo, but this isn’t a galaxy that particularly gives a shit about being meant for better. Hell, Master Skywalker was meant to be the damn savior of the galaxy, and look how that turned out,” Han saw Master Kenobi wince but he refused to apologize, despite the bitter pit he felt opening in his stomach, “I was a twelve-year-old on a stolen speeder with no family, no master, and no skills aside from piloting. So I took what I knew and got the hell out while the going was good.”

“And you never looked back.” It was not a question. Master Kenobi began slicing the apple into sections.

Han swallowed and did not reply.

He had looked back. Many times. He couldn’t count how many times he’d scanned radio frequencies, hoping for even a whisper of the Jedi regrouping, for a call to all padawans to return home. He’d hoped and prayed to anything and reached out with the Force but there was nothing looking for him. Any Force left in the galaxy was being bent to the will of the Emperor and Han stayed the hell away from it. He had looked back, but all he ever saw was the Jedi temple in flames. He stopped looking back when he realized the smoke from the fire was never going to clear.

Master Kenobi must have been sensing his emotions because the man’s expression changed from one of mild curiosity to—

“I don’t need your pity,” Han snarled. Kenobi put half of the apple slices in front of Han,

“It is not pity, Padawan Konstan. It is empathy. As you said, you were not the only Jedi in hiding,” said Master Kenobi as he bit into an apple slice.

Han paused. He did not know what Master Kenobi had been doing since the fall of the Jedi, but he had a feeling that the old master also felt the slight tilt in the floor beneath his feet and smelled smoke on the wind when there wasn’t a fire.

“I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to feel anything except bland acceptance,” Han grumbled, looking away as he picked up an apple slice. Master Kenobi levitated a can of juice off the counter and onto the table in front of him. The old man cracked it open,

“That was the old Jedi Order. Whatever new order arises with Luke Skywalker will be different from the one we know. Best begin learning to adapt now,” he said. Han snorted,

“Yeah. Damn kid radiates the Force like a fucking sun. Somehow I can’t see him learning to keep his feelings to himself.”

Master Kenobi smiled fondly as he took a sip, “No, I don’t think he will. But perhaps that is for the better.”

“If you say so,” Han said, drinking his caf.

The door to the kitchen slid open and Luke stumbled in, hair rumpled with sleep. The Force still swarmed around him, in a way Han could viscerally feel and practically see. Luke yawned, running a hand through his hair and rumpling it worse,

“What time is it?”

“Depends on where you’re asking from,” Han said as he stood up from the booth, taking the caf and holopad with him. He gestured at the doorway, “Gonna go check on Chewie, see if he wants as break from flying.” As he walked out, Han felt Master Kenobi sending a gentle admonishment through the Force, similar to a gentle whap on the back of his head. He mentally groaned and turned back to Luke, “Sleeping alright kid?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, the sounds the ship makes remind me of home.”

“Good. Glad to hear it,” Han said. He shot Master Kenobi a look and walked out, pretending that he didn’t feel some vague wisps of the Force beginning to coalesce and chase after his heels.


	3. In Which We Meet Dereford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han's plant is NOT a broken plant, thank you very much. It's just a little sad.

In the end, the thing that gets Han in the same room as Luke is not Obi-wan Kenobi. It’s not planning their mission. It’s not even communal meals.

It’s a plant.

In fact, the thing that makes Han sit down across from Luke Skywalker without wanting to crawl out of his skin is Han’s plant.

It all started with Han trying to avoid Master Kenobi. Or at least, carefully plan their interaction so that Chewie was in the room to put a buffer between them and a hold on any other woe-is-us conversations that Han knew Master Kenobi wanted to have. The old man kept smiling kindly at Han when he thought Han wasn’t looking, with a warmth that seemed to promise understanding and bonding. Han didn’t want to be bonding with some damn outdated Jedi, he just wanted to finish this job, get square with Jabba, and get out of this galaxy.

Part of Han’s scheme to avoid Master Kenobi involved changing what times he visited the cafeteria, going later once he was almost entirely certain that no one would be there. The time translated to something like four in the morning for Luke and Obi-wan, which largely left Han able to do whatever he pleased. On one particular morning, however, Han was not alone in the cafeteria. He walked in, barely awake himself, to find Luke Skywalker sitting cross-legged on the table and glaring at Han’s plant that lived on top of the cooling box. It was a small green circle, about the size of Han’s fist, planted in sandy soil and absolutely covered in sharp spines that had frightened off many a curious snuffling nose. Chewie referred to the plant as Dereford and largely seemed to regard it fondly like a useless but familiar droid. Luke Skywalker, however, was glaring at the plant like it had personally offended him.

Han looked between the plant and Luke before shuffling across the kitchen and making himself caf. Oddly enough, the Force presence off Luke seemed to be less than normal. Han added sugar to the caf and watched the one-sided staring contest before saying cautiously,

“My plant do something to you?”

“Your plant is wrong,” Luke said, with the petulance of a small child. Han frowned, looked at Dereford, and back at Luke,

“My plant is alright. Maybe you forgot after living in a damn sandstorm for too many years, but plants are actually supposed to be green.”

“No I know that much. But this plant is wrong. Plants are supposed to be soft and lush with leaves and flowers. That is…not a plant.”

Han sighed and plucked plant and pot off the cooling box and held it up in front of Luke’s face, “See? It’s a plant. Chewie named it, but it’s still a plant,” Han put the plant back where it belonged, “and besides, what do you know about lush plants? You’re from Tatooine.”

“We have plants on Tatooine!” Luke said in defense of his home planet. Han snorted and rolled his eyes,

“You have dried-up brown sticks on Tatooine that may or may not have been trees at some point in time.”

“No, we have plants!” said Luke defiantly, “Aunt Ber—my aunt, she keeps—kept, she kept a small garden for cooking.”

Han raised his eyes as he watched Luke stumble over his sentences and the Force in the room seemed to grow deeper, heavier. Han made a note to never ask about Luke’s family if this was what happened. Instead, he took a sip of caf,

“How’d she keep something like that on Tatooine?”

“I helped her. Plants like me,” Luke said with a shrug. The Force still felt heavy and sad. Han ignored it.

“What do you mean, plants like you?”

“They just grow better. Taller, greener. And they seem happier.”

Han could only blink at that before fairly growling into his mug, “Damn Jedi and their Force-flowing nonsense.”

Han very carefully tried not to think about the fact that he had never heard of anyone being able to keep a plant alive long-term in space, despite the fact that Dereford had lived on the _Falcon_ for almost eleven years. Han knew what Luke meant though. In the Jedi’s history, when times had gotten tough or a particular Padawan had been difficult, it was common practice to put the Jedi to gardening. Something about it being meditative for reflecting on the Force in all living things and encouraging the flow of life. Personally, Han just thought that the Masters got tired of paying for overpriced produce at the market.

Han took a sip of his caf and realized that for the first time, he wasn’t being overwhelmed by Luke and the damn Force. He supposed that made sense; with the way Jedi and gardening worked Dereford was soaking some of it up, especially with Luke focusing so intently on the helpless plant. It did look a little greener, a little more vibrant. Luke, however, was back to staring at it.

“So you think by staring at my plant you can make it be leafy and soft?”

“It works with other dying plants,” Luke said, not breaking his stare. Han glared at Luke then,

“Dereford is not dying, that’s exactly what he’s supposed to look like. Quit trying to fix something that isn’t broken.”

“No no, there’s something wrong with it, I’m working on fixing it,” Luke said distractedly. Han was getting ready to tackle the boy off his table when Luke’s expression suddenly cleared and he smiled victoriously, “Got it!”

Han whipped around to look at his plant. There, on the very top of Dereford’s very small spiny head, was a tiny white flower. Against his will, Han was impressed. And suddenly the Force was back in the room, this time swirling and dancing with Luke’s excitement. Luke was already chattering away,

“—knew there was something blocked in it, I could feel it. And he’s okay! The plant—”

“Yeah, Dereford is good. Thanks, kid.” Han fairly fled the room. He could feel the Force swirling in the place, flowing into and out of Luke Skywalker and Master Kenobi and Chewie and maybe even Han himself and—

Dereford.

Han slammed his forehead against the wall of the ship. He could feel kriffing Dereford in the Force. Han hadn’t felt anything in the Force unless he really looked in years, and suddenly this kid was on his ship and he could feel the damn plant.

Han groaned to himself. He could feel, actually pinpoint the location of, his plant. Stupid Jedi and their stupid Force. Han took his mug of caf back to his room, shuffling along the corridor. This was the opposite of what he’d expected on their little adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a little cracky, but I was thinking about plants on Tatooine and in space and then we got this. If you have prompts for this universe, gimme a shout. This is the sandbox I come play in when I get bored and don't want anything too heavy, so I might actually keep updating once every couple months or so.


	4. Leia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han meets Leia, which goes about how you'd expect

When Han Solo met Princess Leia, he damn near screamed. Not just because of the blasters shots going back and forth across the hallway but because of course, OF COURSE, the mysterious princess he was being dragged into rescuing was not only stupidly gorgeous, but she just had to be some kind of Force sensitive monster.

Han had felt it when they’d gotten to the battle station, anger and barely constrained rage in the Force like nothing he’d seen before, like a dog growling from beneath a muzzle. It was something deeply ruthless, but not cold like some bounty hunters Han had met. This was warm rage, a ruthless need for revenge that was looking to warm itself with the blood of its enemies. Just knowing it whispered around him made his teeth feel sharper, his movements faster. It was an adrenaline rush pulsing in the air itself, a fight-or-flight response sizzling in the molecules.

Han had just sort of assumed it was Darth Vader.

But when Luke came out of the prison cell with a beautiful princess on his arm, the kind of girl that stole a laser gun and started shooting before Han could even catch a name, he knew there was no other source of that kind of anger. Of course the person so ready and willing to rain down hellfire and death was the damn princess.

“Into the garbage chute, flyboy!”

Han grinned to himself, even as he felt that rage start taking down stormtroopers. Luke’s presence in the Force felt suffocating with all its hope and sunshine, but this, this was something else. This was intoxicating. This was pure rage and anger and such a deep need for retribution Han felt it echoing in his bones. He could smell smoke from the fire that changed the world so many years ago but this time he could feel himself running towards it, ready to find Anakin Skywalker and tear the man’s heart out with his bare teeth. Han wasn’t just angry, he was incandescent with fury and it felt wonderful.

As Han dove into the garbage chute, he was too distracted by the smoldering frustration he felt at his fingertips to realize that beneath that rage there was a grief big enough to encompass a planet, a system, a temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to my first con this weekend, so we're celebrating with a new chapter! Leave me ideas and prompts guys, because they keep me going this semester.
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr! Come hang out at beatrice-babe.tumblr.com


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